


Worth More Than Gold

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: “Is it saffron that I’m tasting?” Saffron was worth more than gold. Davos had only tasted it once before, when King Robert had sent a half a fish to him at a feast on Dragonstone. (A Dance with Dragons)Stannis, Robert, Davos, saffron, and a feast.





	Worth More Than Gold

Robert and his large retinue descended on Dragonstone with the force of a hurricane. Why Robert thought that it was necessary to bring so many knights and men-at-arms with him while visiting the seat of his own brother remained a mystery to Stannis.  

“Here,” said Robert, playfully throwing a glass jar filled to the brim to Stannis, as if they were still little boys playing catch. “Something to enliven your grim and dour feast. It’s saffron, from Yi Ti.”

“I know what it is,” replied Stannis, with some asperity, as he caught the jar. He had seen saffron before, in the kitchen of Storm’s End.  _Hair of the angels_ , his mother had called it. He had tried imagining his mother with her hair the color of saffron, and had burst out giggling. His mother had laughed even harder, when he finally confessed to her what had made him giggle. He was six, he remembered clearly. He had so few memories of  _laughing_ , and this one was among the most precious of all.   

 “We bought the saffron in Qarth,” Robert continued. “No feast is complete without it. When I visited Storm’s End, Renly’s cook prepared a mouth-wateringly delicious swan dish, poached in a saffron-and-peach sauce. It was almost as good as eating a wild boar I had killed with my own hands,” declared Robert.

Stannis scoffed. Peaches.  _Of course_  there would be peaches at Renly’s feast. Peaches from the Reach, most likely, gifted by the father of Renly’s new squire, his  _Tyrell_ squire. Towards the end of the siege, Mace Tyrell had ordered a crate of burst, overripe peaches to be catapulted over the walls of Storm’s End, bearing the message, “You can have fresh peaches, and so much more, if you surrender.” Since then, even the sight of a single peach was enough to make Stannis boil over with fury. But here was Renly, welcoming not just Tyrell’s peaches but also Mace Tyrell’s own son into Storm’s End, into the castle where thousands had suffered and hundreds had died while Mace Tyrell and his men feasted and made merry outside the walls.  

 _Lords must make friends, not enemies._ That had been Renly’s sole response to Stannis, as if that was enough to justify everything. Did Renly forget, because he was so young at the time of the siege?  Or did he try his best to forget, because remembering was too painful? Or did he remember, but decided to forgive the Tyrells anyway?  

Stannis would neither forgive nor forget. It was his  _duty_  to remember, he believed, solemnly, for the sake of the dead. Even if remembering felt like reliving the pain all over again.     

“I don’t suppose your cook could rustle up that same swan dish?” Robert asked, looking hopeful.    

“There are no swans and peaches in Dragonstone,” Stannis snapped. And no sauce combining saffron and peaches. Saffron reminded him of his mother, of laughter, of joy. Peaches reminded him of death, of sorrow, of unquenchable fury. To bring the two together would be an abomination.

“Renly would send you some, I’m sure. If you ask nicely,” said Robert, blithely. “There are swans galore in Storm’s End. And that Loras boy Renly has taken as a squire – his father is always sending crates and crates of fruits to Storm’s End, peaches included.”

He could not tell if Robert was deliberately trying to provoke him – with the reminder that Storm’s End belonged to Renly by Robert’s fiat, and Renly was free to do as he wished and to welcome whoever he wanted to Storm’s End, even the Tyrells – or if Robert was just so intent on his precious swan dish to the point that he was completely oblivious to Stannis’ clenched fists and clenched jaw.

**__________________________**

_Every time._  Every single time Robert paid a visit to Dragonstone, he would make the same unfunny jape. Entering the Great Hall, whose doors were set in the mouth of a stone dragon, Robert would writhe and squirm, trashing and struggling, crying out, “The dragon! Save me from the dragon. I don’t want to be eaten by the dragon.”

They laughed, of course. They always did, no matter how many times Robert had done the same thing before. Not just Robert’s retinue, but most of the lords and knights sworn to Dragonstone as well. They laughed to curry favor, Stannis thought, scornfully.

“Some of them laugh to curry favor, no doubt, but many more laugh because your brother is king, and they are afraid of the consequences of not laughing,” Ser Davos had argued instead.

Tonight, Stannis searched the crowd for Davos Seaworth. There he was, sitting beside Maester Cressen, a light grin on his face, but nothing more.  

Stannis never laughed. He scowled and frowned instead, watching Robert’s antics.

“You are His Grace’s brother, my lord. You could afford not to laugh,” Davos had pointed out, in his plainspoken and forthright manner.

**__________________________**

“Fish? With saffron? It seems like such a waste for something that’s worth more than gold,” Robert griped.

“There is duck, but I’m sure you would have complained about what a crime it is to waste your precious saffron on such a tough and stringy meat. Even though the duck is actually very tender, prepared in this particular way. ”

“Duck meat is  _always_  tough and stringy, no matter how it is prepared. Swan meat, on the other hand, is heavenly. The quality of food at your feast leaves much to be desired, Stannis. If this is the way you feast a king, then how much worse is the food when you are merely feasting your bannermen?”

“The food is the same.”

“Now _that_ I find insulting, brother. The food at a feast for mere bannermen should not be same as the food at a feast for kings. Renly understands this very well.”

The dishes were served before Robert could continue grumbling. The serving men took each dish to Robert first. Robert would take a king’s portion, and then he would send the rest of the dish to a lord, a lady, or a knight of his choice. “With compliments from the king,” the serving man who brought the dish to the honored recipient would announce, loudly, so that others in the hall would not miss the identity of those who had been honored in such a way.

Disliking the duck, despite Stannis’ assurance of its tenderness, Robert had taken only a very small portion of the dish before sending the rest to Lord Velaryon, whose eyes widened at the size of the portion sent to him. He, and the guests sitting close to him, had taken the portion size as an indication of the expansiveness of the king’s regard for him, no doubt, not knowing the real reason Robert had taken very little for himself. Robert smiled and nodded at Monford Velaryon, who was clad from top to bottom in sea-green silk of the finest material, looking conceited and haughty in Stannis’ estimation, but luxurious and resplendent in Robert’s estimation.

The fish dish was the second to be served. The white fish was steamed whole, on the bone, and the saffron had turned its juices a bright, distinctive color. Robert took half of the fish, stripped from one side of the bone, transferring it to his own plate. He regarded the rest of the fish for a long while, before asking Stannis, “Your onion knight, is he here tonight?”

“His name is Ser Davos. Davos Seaworth,” Stannis snapped. It was one thing for Stannis himself to call Davos  _‘my onion knight.’_ That was never intended to mock, to pour scorn on Ser Davos or to imply that his knighthood was less worthy than the knighthood conferred to others. It was a reminder of what had brought them together in the first place, a reminder of the onions and salt fish that had saved the lives of so many during the siege of Storm’s End. When others referred to Ser Davos as an onion knight, however, it was often done as a sly, underhanded way to put him down, observed Stannis.  

“I have always wondered why onion knight is the name that sticks,” Robert mused. “Why not salt fish knight? The salt fish Ser Davos smuggled to Storm’s End was probably more of a life-saver than the onion, I’d wager.”

“They were both valuable,” insisted Stannis. “And Ser Davos is a knight just like any other. His knighthood is not tainted by the smell of onion or salt fish.”

“I never said it’s tainted,” Robert replied, outraged. “Seven hells, Stannis! Why do you persist on misunderstanding me, on putting the worst interpretation on everything I do? It’s a term of endearment, calling Ser Davos an onion knight.”

Stannis almost choked on his lemon water, hearing the phrase  _‘a term of endearment.’_

“After all, I owe Ser Davos great deal,” Robert continued. “Without those onions and salt fish he brought to Storm’s End, my two brothers would be dead by now.”

 _And Storm’s End would have fallen to the royalist army_ , thought Stannis.  _Which would grieve you more, I wonder?_

“Your brother loves you,” Maester Cressen had often insisted.

“If he truly does, then he has a very strange way of showing it,” Stannis would inevitably reply.

Addressing a server, Robert said, “Send the rest of the fish to Ser Davos of House Seaworth. With compliments from the king.” He turned to Stannis. “Very fitting, don’t you think? A fish dish, flavored with the king’s own saffron, for the man who saved the lives of the king’s brothers with salt fish and onions.”

**__________________________**

“Was it your suggestion to the king, my lord, to send the fish dish to me?”

“No. It was my brother’s own wish to send the dish, to honor the man who saved the lives of his brothers.”

“The fish tasted like nothing I had ever tasted before. Because of the saffron, Maester Cressen explained. It is worth more than gold, he told me.”

“It is true that a pound of saffron is more expensive than a pound of gold. But you only need to use a very small amount of saffron to flavor and color a dish.” 

“Still … something worth more than gold … I am not certain that I am worthy of that honor. Lords Velaryon, Celtigar and Bar Emmon were all very displeased, to say the least.”

“The salt fish and onions you brought to Storm’s End were also worth more than gold, to the starving people inside its walls.”

“And you have rewarded me for them, my lord, and punished me for my years of smuggling.”

“My brother’s honor is a separate thing. And of all the lords and knights he has honored since he took the throne, you deserve it more than most, Ser Davos.”  

**Author's Note:**

> The swan dish mentioned in the fic is from A Storm of Swords:
> 
> Then came some strolling pipers and clever dogs and sword swallowers, with buttered pease, chopped nuts, and slivers of swan poached in a sauce of saffron and peaches. (“Not swan again,” Tyrion muttered, remembering his supper with his sister on the eve of battle.)


End file.
